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Hangover

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Frank blames the whole tripping-over-the-sheets thing on his lingering hangover. It isn't until he looks at the hands that keep him from breaking his nose that he notices it.

"My fucking..."

He doesn't bother finishing the sentence because he's too busy running into the bathroom and pushing his hands all over his naked torso. It's not just the finger tattoos that are gone. It's all of them. And he's lost a little weight in his sleep. Maybe the tattoos took the weight with them.

"What the fuck," he hears from the bed. Except it sounds like his own voice. So when he looks up into the mirror and sees Mikey's face, he takes a breath and relaxes.

He goes back into the room, and sure enough, Mikey's sitting up in bed, looking decidedly shorter and more covered in ink. It's kind of hilarious seeing an almost-neutral look of confusion on Frank's own face. He hadn't known he could look so...still.

"I knew I shouldn't have let Pete give us beer," Mikey says with disgust.

Frank flops onto the bed, and Mikey looks at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"It's not that bad," Frank says, looking appreciatively at the dick he's now sporting. "I mean, bus call isn't even for a couple hours."

Mikey rolls his eyes, but he's reaching over and running his hand over Frank's stomach - his stomach, technically - and digging in his nails just a little bit. Frank's seen what that does to Mikey, but he's still surprised by the way his toes curl and his dick gets hard almost instantly. He throws his head back and presses into Mikey's touch.

"Yeah," Mikey says, like he's made a decision. "Okay."

He straddles Frank, and from there, it's basically like he's playing an instrument: he goes right for the erogenous spots at the exact right times, and by the time he swallows Frank's cock - and okay, Frank isn't entirely immune to the sight of his own lips stretched around Mikey from this angle, surreal though it is - Frank's about ready to blow. He's flipping through his mental Power Point of not-sexy images to hold back when Mikey pulls off and says, "You should fuck me."

"Shit," Frank breathes. No way he's going to say no to that.

He grabs the lube and fingers Mikey while he's on his hands and knees. It's weird: Mikey's body doesn't have the muscle memory that Frank's does after years of jerking it solo, but Frank still knows just how fast and how many fingers to give, and the new body certainly has the stamina to keep up. Mikey's pushing back against them before long, probably because Frank knows exactly where to crook his fingers, and the moans coming from his mouth are low and loud. Mikey is usually the silent type in the sack, and Frank's noises are usually higher and more jagged, so seeing a hybrid of the two is kind of the best thing ever.

It's when Frank sees Mikey's borrowed dick slapping wetly against his borrowed stomach that Frank pulls out, jerks the cock he's using with Mikey's amazingly long fingers, and lines up. Mikey shoves before Frank can really draw it out, and then he's all the way inside. They moan in unison.

Mikey looks over his shoulder. "Fuck me already."

"Hold your fucking..." He takes a break as Mikey squirms. "God, okay."

He gives it to Mikey hard, digging those long fingers into the skin that should be his, staring at the ink on his back. He knew the back tattoos would be good for fucking, but it's nice to have specific targets to bite when he's really pounding in.

Mikey comes first, which is no shock; Frank's body really likes it up the ass. But he loses his balance and falls forward onto his arms, and Frank slips out. He grunts with annoyance even though that's more of a Mikey thing, but his dick slips between the cheeks of Mikey's ass - his ass? Fuck, it's confusing - and he's close enough that he comes with a couple more thrusts, jizzing all over Mikey's lower back.

After he's collapsed on the bed and laid in a stupor for a few minutes, he says, "Remind me to send Pete a fucking fruit basket or something."

Mikey snorts. "He can eat it after I kick his ass."

"Or after you spike his beer."

That brings a grin to Mikey's face, and for a second, Frank thinks he's looking into a mirror.

"I do owe Gabe for the llama incident," he says, reclining back. He's drawing Frank's fingers through his hair; he's a pretty big fan of the strands.

Frank nods sagely and twitches Mikey's fingers around, just because he can. They'll switch back probably before their set later, but for now? It's pretty fucking amazing.